The roaring sea was once my mistress called

when I could see horizons solely from

within these callous confines. Listless, walled.

Perspective proves how peace from prison comes.

The sea demands no tribute but my gaze.

It washes corridors of thoughts like rivers,

leaves the channels open. Water does not raze

stone walls, cause the passion fire to shiver.

But water is not breath, nor air the dew

that lights upon my troubled brow.

And when your voice can summon up anew

the roiling sea to crash to sink my prow

Should the sea retract and land be near

No sailor I, what need have I to fear?